


Tell Them

by Ludwiggle73



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Coming Out, FACE Family, Family Feels, Gen, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludwiggle73/pseuds/Ludwiggle73
Summary: At breakfast one morning, Matt has something he needs to say.





	Tell Them

**Author's Note:**

> Wish fulfillment just in time for Pride month :)
> 
> What do you tell someone when they come out to you?

 

_“Matthilde! À table!”_

Matt sighed to himself. Normally the sight of pancakes on his plate made him smile, but not this morning. He felt like he’d been fading away these past few months. Every time someone said his full name, he wilted. Every time someone said something that highlighted the false identity he’d been given, he shrank a little more into himself. Soon, he feared, there would be nothing left. He would be a turtle unable to come out of its shell. He didn’t want to live that way, but what could he do?

_Tell them?_

“Mattie,” Alfred said, muffled by his cheekful of pancake, “I told Dad we should all dye our hair rainbow for gay month and he yelled at me.”

“I didn’t yell.” Arthur didn’t look up from the newspaper next to his plate. “And it’s called Pride month, as you well know. And we’d be two heads short of the flag’s colors, so there wouldn’t be much point.” He removed the last section of the paper and passed it to Matt so he could read the funnies. “Here, love.”

“Thanks.” A small mumble, because Matthew was distracted by his thoughts. Would Arthur still call him _love_ if he was a boy? He hadn’t called Alfred that since they were little kids. How much would change, really? And wouldn’t the lack of change be so much worse?

“Dad’s too boring to dye his hair,” Alfred announced. “Mattie, too.”

“Don’t talk about your sister like that,” Arthur said automatically.

“He has dyed his hair before.” Francis stepped over to smooth messy bangs from his husband’s forehead. “Green and red streaks—”

Alfred snorted, incredulous. “Like Christmas?”

“Not at the same time,” Arthur snapped. He swatted Francis’s hand away. “That was decades ago. Neither of us are the same people we were back then.”

Francis gave an oddly knowing smile and turned back to tend the stove.

Matt poked at his pancakes but didn’t eat them. Endless words dashed through his mind, possibilities that would never see the light of day. He’d read all sorts of outlines for doing this, countless stories people posted online. Sometimes it went well, sometimes it went terribly. Support blogs urged followers to only come out if it was safe for them to do so, but Matt wasn’t sure how anyone could ever be a hundred percent sure about that. Yes, he had two fathers and they had raised their children to always voice their opinions no matter how outlandish they may be, but _this_ . . . it felt different, bigger. It felt, Matt realized as he sat and let their unheard conversation wash over him, like he was stealing Matthilde away and replacing her with a stranger. That wasn’t fair to them, was it?

 _It might not be_ , he thought slowly, word by word, _but it’s not fair to me to choose their happiness over my own._

He remembered the advice his dad had given him when he said he was too nervous to go up on a stage to receive his diploma. _Don’t think about doing it, think about how relieved you’ll be when it’s over. Then that’s where you’ll be, before you even know it._

Matt took a deep breath and, for the first time in months, sat up straight in his chair. It made his chest stick out more, but he pretended it was because he was strong and confident, like a proud collie. “I need to tell you something.”

Alfred spoke over him for a few words; it wasn’t often Matt’s soft voice interrupted the louder ones of the household. Then, when the words sank in, he and Arthur looked at Matt with inquiring expressions. A moment later, Francis was glancing over his shoulder too.

This was happening.

Matt forgot how to speak English.

“What sort of something?” Arthur prompted.

_what if they don’t love me anymore what if they kick me out what if I lose them I can’t lose them_

“You haven’t eaten anything yet,” Francis said, brow furrowed in concern. He came over to cup Matt’s cheeks. “Do you feel well?” He laid the back of his hand across Matt’s forehead.

“Did you throw up?” Alfred asked, always eager to keep the conversation table-appropriate.

Matt shook his head. He was tearing up now, and his throat was burning with stifled sobs, but he had to get this out. He’d started it. He couldn’t think clearly enough to formulate a lie now. He had made his bed. Time to lie in it and find out if he would have sweet dreams or nightmares. “I—I’m . . .”

“Please don’t say you’re pregnant,” Arthur said, and Francis’s eyes stretched wide.

“No! No.” Matt sniffled, and a bubble of laughter rose from him despite himself, and that calmed him enough to get out the truth: “I’m trans.”

One terrible second, the worst moment of his whole life, when no one moved or said a word. It was only natural, the time it took for the words and their meaning to click in the heads of the listeners. But Matt would remember it all his life, and the heart-stopping fear that accompanied it.

Then Francis was sighing in relief with a hand over his heart, and Arthur was sitting back in his chair and saying, “Oh, thank God.”

Alfred’s reaction was even more lax. He just gave Matt a crooked smile and said, “Since when?”

Matt’s gaze flicked around his audience, seeking anger, grief, rejection. Finding none, he slowly replied, “Um, since, like, a few months ago? But I guess I’ve always sort of—”

“What?” Alfred cried. “You’ve known for months and you never told me? What the hell, Mattie! We tell each other everything!”

“Ouais,” Francis said, head tipped to one side, “why did you wait so long to tell us?”

New tears swarmed in front of Matt’s eyes, blurring his vision. “I-I didn’t want you to be mad.”

The response to this was instantaneous. Francis swept him up in his arms, stroking his curls and covering his forehead in kisses. “Oh, mon petit chou, we would never be mad. We love you no matter what you are.” He pulled back to frame his face in his hands, and Matt was shocked to see tears in his papa’s eyes. “Nothing you could do could make us stop loving you, Matt—” He stopped himself, then searched Matt’s face, expectant.

Matt trembled beneath the weight of his own gratitude and whispered, “Matthew.”

A smile bloomed across Francis’s face. “Matthieu.” He gave his face another peppering of kisses, then whirled around to save the next batch of pancakes.

Alfred took his place, giving Matt a tight hug followed by a punch to the arm. “It’ll be way more fun having a brother than a sister,” he said with one of his brightest grins.

“I still hate football as a boy,” Matt told him.

Alfred frowned. “I’ll train you to be a dude, don’t worry.” But the last two words had a double meaning, and Alfred’s wink told Matt all he needed to know as his brother sat back down to eat.

That left Arthur, who was watching with a look in his eyes Matt had never seen before. It was something like sadness, but with a knowing softness—the same thing that had lightened Francis’s eyes just a few minutes ago. Arthur stood. “Could I have a word with you in the living room?”

Matt followed him in, nerves prickling again. Mostly, though, he was still high from the telling and the rush of emotion that had followed. If he could feel like this all the time, undaunted of challenge and uncaring of opposing opinion, he could do anything.

Arthur sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. Once Matt was settled, Arthur steepled his fingers in his lap and stared down at them for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it was with a low rasp, almost to himself. “Since you were brave enough to do that, I think I’ll try to be brave as well.”

Matt stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Arthur gave him a sidelong look, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Haven’t you ever wondered why you’ve never seen me without a shirt?”

Matt considered, thinking back to anytime they went somewhere with a pool as a family. Francis always in the water with them, Arthur always sitting out, claiming he’d get sunburnt or the water was too cold or he was allergic to the chlorine. He remembered running into the master bedroom as a little kid, jumping up with Alfred to wake Dad and Papa. Francis always slept shirtless, and Arthur—even on the hottest summer nights—still wore a T-shirt to bed. Matt had no idea what he looked like from the neck down. Which meant . . .

“But—you—I thought we came from a surrogate,” Matt said, stumbling over the words.

“I was the surrogate,” Arthur replied, his voice so thin it nearly ceased to exist.

“But . . .” Of course, it wouldn’t be hard for Arthur to hide it from Matt and Alfred. Their parents had their own bathroom; Arthur could keep a sharps container in there for his needles and they’d never know. If he’d had the surgery before they were born they’d never find that out either; Matt certainly couldn’t remember what the chest he’d nursed from looked like. Arthur had hidden in plain sight, just like Matt, all this time.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever tell you and Alfred, to be honest,” he said. “I prefer to keep it to myself, these days. It’s not an important part of me anymore. But for you . . .” He gathered Matthew’s hands into his own and held them tight. “It won’t be the same for you as it was for me, and I’m glad. I hope it will be much easier for you.” He met Matt’s gaze, green eyes bright with pride and love and, yes, unfallen tears. “I’ll do whatever I can to fight for that.”

Matt couldn’t hold himself together any longer. He fell against Arthur, wetting his shirt with happy tears and squeezing his arms around him. Arthur rubbed a hand up and down his back while the other snuck round to pinch the tears from the corners of his eyes. A few quick blinks and a sniff and he was mostly composed again. Arthur cleared his throat and said, “Now, now, we mustn’t weep. We should be celebrating.”

Matt pulled back to look up at him. Arthur smiled fondly.

“I met my son today.”

  
  


_The Beginning._

**Author's Note:**

> Tell them how loved they are <3


End file.
